


Addiction

by shaenie



Category: lotrips
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-25
Updated: 2003-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaenie/pseuds/shaenie





	Addiction

Elijah is addicted to more things than he thinks he is. Billy is very aware of this.  
He plucks the fag from between Elijah's fingers, the fag Elijah is not supposed to be smoking whilst in costume, and drags deeply on it. He doesn't actually smoke, but that doesn't matter. Elijah opens his mouth to object, and then squints into the sun and sees who it is. He chooses not to. Wisely.  
Billy sinks down to his knees next to where Elijah is leaning against the trailer. Elijah doesn't speak. It is hard to tell if he is even breathing, he is so still. Billy slides a hand into Frodo's trousers without a word and curls fingers around Elijah's dick. Elijah doesn't move, not a fucking muscle, and Billy smiles. He's nearly trained that little flinch out of Elijah. He strokes a tight fist along Elijah's cock, slow, deliberate.  
"Don't," Elijah whispers, alarmed. He curls blunt fingers around Billy's wrist and tries to pull it away. Billy tightens his grip, hard, listens to Elijah whimper softly. Billy drags off the cigarette and blows smoke upward at Elijah's face. "Billy," Elijah murmurs hoarsely, shaky-voiced. "Don't, not again, please." But his thighs have opened wide and he has braced his upper back against the trailer. His hips sway gently.  
Billy holds the cigarette up for him to take, and Elijah does, reflexively obedient. His eyes are deep and glazed and wounded.  
"Smoke, Elijah," Billy says, and Elijah's hand floats upward, slides the filter between slick, pink lips, inhales. His hand is trembling. His hips are in motion. Billy tightens his hand again, watches the pain flicker into life on that pretty fucking face, followed immediately by the need.  
God, he is fucking lovely.  
"Please," Elijah whimpers. "Jesus, please, Billy, wardrobe... I promised them, please..." But he moans and catches his lower lip between small, white teeth as Billy's hand speeds up, slick, already, with precome.  
"Smoke," Billy orders again, and Elijah does. His eyes are damp, but there are no tears there. Humiliation, but no tears. But there could be, if Billy wants to push it that hard. It's worse here, for Elijah. Worse on set, and he is so frightened, so vulnerable.  
The lust/pain/need/humilation/pleading on innocent little Frodo's face is perfect, perfectly decadent. It's a good look for him. Things spill from his eyes like this, spill like something liquid, something Billy could catch and collect and keep. He can't, not really. It is ephemeral, transient. But that doesn't matter. He can keep Elijah, he means to keep Elijah, and he can pull this from Elijah any time he wishes. Elijah gives it freely. Elijah can't help it.  
He is making quiet, breathy sounds, now. Billy watches his face, and Elijah turns away, closes his eyes. He whispers: "no" under his breath. Again and again. "no no no no no no" But his hips are jerking up with each stroke, he is arching and shoving his cock through Billy's hand, and Billy is not surprised when the litany changes from "no" to "please". He isn't surprised, and Elijah's hips roll while his lips beg: "Please oh please oh please oh please oh please..."  
"Smoke, Elijah," Billy says, and this time Elijah doesn't.  
One of his addictions has overwhelmed the other.  
Billy stills his hand. Waits until Elijah's hips still as well. Slides his hand out of Frodo's trousers.  
Elijah's eyes are wide and hopeless. Both of his hands move toward his own groin, and Billy catches his wrists, stops him before he can touch himself or burn a hole in Frodo's trousers with the cigarette he has clearly forgotten he is holding.  
"Why...?" His face is twisted and desperate.  
"Smoke," Billy says.  
Elijah does, drags deeply and hard, eyes closed. And flicks the remains of the cigarette away. "Please," he whispers, breathing smoke out with the plea.  
Billy stands up and turns away.  
"Billy. Billy, don't," he begs quietly, sincerely. Billy doesn't look. He knows what he will see. Elijah's face, flushed and needful, both hands sliding into Frodo's trousers.  
"Don't," he says sharply. Still doesn't look. "Don't."  
"When? Please, when?"  
God, he is sweet. Lovely.  
He doesn't answer. He hears Elijah fumbling at his packet of cigarettes as he walks away.  
One addiction substituted for another.


End file.
